


Double Tap

by HandsAcrossTheSea



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, Bottom Sam, Double Penetration, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Samcest, Sex Magic, Top Sam, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-25 04:11:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12522692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandsAcrossTheSea/pseuds/HandsAcrossTheSea
Summary: Hunting a warlock results in double Sam - which at first, Sam sees as a problem.Dean, however, doesn't.





	Double Tap

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't planning this fic, at all. I was not enabled, cajoled, or persuaded in any way. Yes, this one is entirely of my own doing and if you want to talk about a messy ride, here it is. If you are looking for deep, meaningful fic, you should probably look elsewhere. All I know is that the image of Sam fucking himself in the most literal sense is a beautiful, pure image that should be cherished by everyone. Not only that but since my last few stories have been from Dean's POV, I thought it would be nice to have something entirely Sam-centric. I don't know about you, but I need some time in my bunk after this one...
> 
> Credit, as usual, to Kat for listening to me blather and shameless use as a sounding board. She's a peach of a friend <3

            “Since when do warlocks live in condos?”

            Sam’s far more concerned about the fact that they’re dressed as building security and that it’s only a matter of time before someone else catches them – so no, the décor isn’t exactly high on his list of concerns.

            But Dean’s mentioned it twice now.

            Sam levels his gun, two steps behind his brother.  “I don’t know, maybe it’s because of the alchemy.”

            “Yeah, well, Flamel kinda started a bad trend here.  They’re supposed to live in the woods where no one can find them and not… downtown Sacramento.”  Dean seems awfully put out about it, and Sam playfully bumps his side as he comes up to his side.

            “Hey, at least we can see in here.”  They’ve been chasing this guy across town since that morning, having found his latest victim frozen into a gold statue.  Yeah, this guy’s a fucking bastard, and Sam can’t help but be reminded of Midas and Jill Masterson.  (No, Dean, I don’t want to paint you gold and fuck you, for the fiftieth time.)

            “Like that’s a comfort – and you’re sure that these will kill him.”  Dean cocks the hammer on his pistol, silver bullets loaded and ready.  It’s certainly worked before, anyway, and Sam has little doubt it will work again.

            Provided they don’t get turned into priceless sculptures first.

            “Has the lore been wrong in the past?”  They come to their targets door, guns at the ready.  Sam lifts his foot and kicks it in, hoping to catch him by surprise.

            A blast of energy chars the space where Sam’s head had been just a second ago, and they both drop.

            Dean fires off a shot, hoping to at least spook him.  “I hope not.”

            Sam just gives him a quick grin and sets off, staying crouched.

            It’s a huge apartment – three thousand square feet, designer furniture, something that could be in one of those home magazines were it not for the grotesque assortment of spell books, bottles, potions, and other paraphernalia of dark magic.  One of the bottle breaks with a rush of heat and Sam has to duck and shield his eyes from broken glass.

            He inhales the cloud of purple smoke that was released from it and hopes like hell he didn’t just poison himself.

            “Son of a bitch!”

            Dean’s voice booms from two rooms over, and Sam’s running at full speed towards him.  He hears the sound of struggle, which means Dean just found him.

            And it sounds like Dean’s losing.

            They’re in the kitchen, ducking and popping up from behind the bar, Dean on one side, the warlock on the other.  Horrible blue arcs of energy spread between his fingers, unnaturally bright as they shoot towards Dean’s ever changing position.  Sam squeezes off a shot and ducks, hoping his momentary surprise at least baits the warlock into coming after him.

            Dean’s pistol comes scattering across the floor towards him and shit on a stick, this just got _bad._

Another ball of magic passes an inch from him, and Sam smells his hair burn.

            The warlock is on top of Dean, hands around his throat and his fingers glowing with magic.  Sam can’t get a good shot at either of them, the two of them rolling around, kicking, punching, Dean growling and choking – Sam closes in and…

            Huh?

            Suddenly the warlock is being lifted bodily upwards by Sam.

            Except Sam is still trying to get a shot off from ten feet away.

            Sam watches himself as the warlock is held up, and Sam doesn’t question what the fuck it is that’s going on – he takes his shot, hits the warlock center mass and like that, he’s gone.

            Dean sits up, rubbing the tears out of his eyes and coughing mightily.  “How… how the _hell_ did you…”

            He pauses midsentence, because there are two Sams, identically dressed, both wearing the same confused expression.

            “What happened?”  Both Sams speak at the same time, and move to help Dean up off the floor.

            “Okay, which one of you was here first, because I can’t…”  Dean looks at both of them and so far as Sam can tell, the other Sam is no different, and neither is he a projection.  Sam touches Sam’s face and yeah, he’s real alright.

            “The bottle, that broke – I think I might have been hit with magic.”  Sam stands up and checks Dean over, feeling for broken bones or contusions.  “Unintentionally.”

            “Yeah, yeah, whatever – so what, he’s some sort of… clone?”

            Sam Two (which really isn’t a two, just… well, Sam will think about it later,) looks at Sam.  “Not… exactly.  An extension of consciousness.  I think.”

            Dean palpates his neck, and Sam tugs him by the elbow.  “C’mon – we better move before the cops show up.”  They can always sort this out on the way back to Kansas, even though Sam doubts there’s anything in the library to answer this particular phenomenon.

            They get to the Impala, and Dean stares at both of them.  “What, you both wanna ride in the front or something?”

            Sam looks at himself (freaky as _hell_ ) and opens the passenger door.  “He’ll… I’ll sit in the back.”

            Dean starts the car and peels away from the building, knowing full well that the magic up there will die as soon as the warlock’s body dissipates – that’s what they do.  Hundreds of years old, fifteen minute decomposition. 

            But Sam has no idea if the same will happen to him, since he’s very much still alive.  “Hey, hand me the laptop.”

            Sam Two passes the bag up front, and leans forward.  “I’ve been digitizing a lot of the archives – maybe there’s something in there.”

            “Try the dark magic section, I think I finished that up last week.”

            “No, because there were more books in the-”

            “Stop!”  Dean slows at a light, and looks at Sam next to him.  “Okay, Sammy, look – talking to yourself is one thing, but talking to _yourself –_ it’s freaky.  Like, a whole new level of freaky.”

            Sam looks at himself, and then looks at Dean.  “But I’m not, it’s just…”

            “An extension of consciousness, yeah, yeah – just… think quieter.”

            Sam does think it’s just a _little_ funny, and smirks to himself.  Well, at himself.  Sam Two has his chin hooked over the seat, watching Sam scroll through columns of text that were it anyone else, wouldn’t make a bit of sense.

            After two hours of Dean turning up the music progressively louder, a lot more confused looks, and absolutely nothing close to answer to their problem, they stop for lunch right on the Nevada border.  They’ve got a 1,500 mile trip ahead of them, which leaves a lot of time in the car with a weird situation.

            Out of habit, Dean pulls Sam in for a kiss before they get out.  “Hungry?”

            “Yeah.”

            Sam Two reaches instinctively for Dean and kisses him as well.

            Huh.

            “Did you tell him… you… to do that?”  Dean doesn’t look upset, just… confused.

            “He’s me, Dean, so no.”

            Dean looks at them both, kisses Sam Two, and then Sam.  “Exactly the same.”

            A glint of mischief flashes in his eyes, and Sam anticipates it before the words are out of Dean’s mouth.  “Hey Sammy, you should make out with yourself.”

            “No.”

            The deadpan way they both say it makes Dean’s face drop – but it’s completely insincere.  “Hey, I’d make out with me, just saying.”

            Alright, it is a little freaky when they both raise their eyebrows at Dean and roll their eyes.  “That’s because you’re a freak, Dean.”

            “Hey, no kink shaming man, I’m just saying it’d be hot.  Watching or touching.”  Dean get out of the car, and Sam starts to follow.  Well, both of Sam.

            Dean stops and holds up his hand.  “Oh no you don’t – you stay here, I’ll bring something back.  You two just…”  He waves his hand, absolutely still thinking about Sam making out with himself.

            Sam Two leans against the side of the car, thinking.  Well, not so much thinking as projecting back into Sam, because they’re his thoughts too.  “Really wish Bobby was around to help with this one.”

            “Yeah, I know.”  Sam does a little double take, and alright, Dean has a point – answering himself is weird as fuck.  “And it’s at least thirty hours back to Kansas.”

            “Twenty five if he drives fast.”  No, Sam isn’t looking forward to that trip at all.  “But it’s not like it’s a stranger, it’s literally me.”

            “I know – and it’s not like we haven’t done it before.”  Sam Two paces a bit, looking at the little strip of shops they’ve stopped at.  “Probably help if he could tell us apart.”

            Sam chews his lips for a second, then opens the door.  “I’ve got it.”

            Sam Two holds perfectly still as Sam comes back with a hair tie from the glove box, surprised at the silkiness of it between his fingers. He shouldn’t be, because it’s his own hair but… maybe Dean was onto something earlier, talking about a little self-exploration.

            “It wouldn’t be that weird, would it?”  Sam Two bends to look in the mirror to make sure it looks okay.  “I mean, I… we… already know what we’re doing.”

            “And let Dean be smug for a month?  Thanks, but he already is.”

            “And how many times did I try to suck my own dick when I was younger?”

            Sam blushes, unwilling to admit it out loud but… here he is anyway.  “Maybe when I was thirteen and there wasn’t anyone around.”

            Sam Two shrugs.  “There was Dean.”

            “Yeah, still a couple years off – and besides, we’re in public.”  Sam looks towards the restaurant, seeing Dean in line to order – but he’s not looking at him.  Them.

            “Dean always say I’m a good kisser – I kinda want to find out why.”  Hearing it from Dean is one thing but to actually _know –_ Sam has to admit, curiosity is getting the better of him here.  Sam Two doesn’t hesitate, and opens the back door to get in.

            “Gotta know yourself, right?”

            That’s kind of the crux – Sam knows himself far too well but in this case, maybe that’s not such a horrible thing.  “Can’t believe I’m agreeing with myself.”

            Sam gets in next to Sam, and he’s not going to chicken out on himself now.

            Sam Two moves at the exact same speed as Sam, cups Sam’s face and tilts his head exactly the same way.  Sam’s mouth is open before he kisses himself, letting himself in.  He tastes sweet, just like Dean says he does, warm and wet and inviting.  Sam presses the kiss harder and while he fully expects himself to bend a little, he doesn’t.

            Of course he doesn’t, because he isn’t kissing Dean.  Dean tries to be under him within ten seconds when they do this, or lets Sam back him up against the wall, the table, whatever – that in itself makes this even more strangely hot.

            “Well?”  Sam Two opens his eyes, gray-green right now and holy shit, maybe he does have beautiful eyes like Dean says.  “Was it…”

            “Good?  I think so.  Uh… I wanna do it again.”

            This time, Sam doesn’t hold back on himself, and alright, it is kinda hot to be kissed back so _hard._ Not that Dean isn’t capable, by any means – this is just different.  Familiar, in a really strange way, like he knows exactly what to expect.

            Sam kinda wants to fuck himself.

            A sharp rap on the hood makes Sam bolt upright, full expecting to find some angry trucker but instead it’s Dean, with a bag full of food and wearing an absolutely enormous grin on his face.

            Sam straightens up and gets out of the car, with Sam right behind him.

            “So Sam, how was… yourself?”  Dean looks righteously happy, and Sam absolutely doesn’t blush and deflect him. 

            “Better than you.”

            Dean’s eyebrows scrunch together, but he’s still smiling.  “Hey, no gutshots – but it was kinda hot, Sammy.”

            Sam Two takes the bag from Dean and starts rifling through it, secretly hoping for cheesy fries.  “I’m not getting naked here, Dean.”

            “We still have a long ride ahead of us – plenty of time for that later.”

            Dean winks, and Sam knows good and well that this is absolutely going to get messy before they reach Kansas. 

            He just hopes that there’s an answer to their problem when they get there, even if it is an interesting one.

            And yes, very, very _hot._

___

            They stay mostly quiet through Nevada, I-80 carrying them through mountains, dry plains, and basically everything Sam hates about the western US.  He’s lost in his own thoughts with himself, reading through what notes he’s got about warlocks, consulting with himself in the backseat (which is growing less weird, because it feels like double the brain power) and trying not to think too hard about the way he’d kissed himself earlier.

            It’s probably bad that he’s dying for another taste of himself, especially since he can feel his own arousal behind him too.  Sam’s never been someone equal to himself in stature, and while Dean can throw him around as well as he pleases, Sam wants to do it to himself.

            Nevada passes by, and a few hours after nightfall they’re in Utah.  The first little town they come to has a lit-up vacancy sign, and Dean doesn’t waste a second in pulling in.  Sam’s glad, because his ass is numb, he’s hungry, and in spite of himself, he fucking wants Dean.

            “You go check in, I’ll go see if I can find some grub.”  Dean kisses him hard in the front seat, his fingers sliding up his chest to catch at the collar of his v-neck.  “Gonna need to eat for what I’ve got planned.”

            “What you have planned,” Sam questions.  “I don’t guess you’re gonna share before hand, are you?”

            Dean shakes his head and licks his lips, Sam Two leaning over to bite his ear.  “Nope.”

            Watching himself kiss Dean is better than any floor-to-ceiling mirror he could ever hope for.  “Don’t be long.”

            “Oh, baby, I wouldn’t dream of it.”

            Dean gently pushes Sam away, pops the trunk, and waits for Sam to lift their bags out before leaving in search of food.

            The girl at reception doesn’t say much, just stares at Sam and it’s easy to pass himself off as a set of twins, yes, a king sized bed, and no, we don’t want access to the pool.  There are only two room keys, and Sam Two takes one for, well, them.  Him.

            “Really wish I’d finished scanning the rest of that box – why didn’t I?”

            Sam Two unlocks the door, non-chalant as he says “because Dean wanted to get handsy in the basement.”

            Sam thinks, and yeah, he’s right; right up against the wall, both of them covered in dust and sweat, the air stale and musty.  It hadn’t been full penetration, but Sam does have a vivid memory of his come looking awfully fucking pretty against Dean’s back.

            “Ever since we moved in, he’s been like that.  He doesn’t have an off-switch, just… low power mode.”

            “Are you really complaining because he’s hot for you?”  Sam Two drops the bags on the left side of the bed, already sitting down to take his shoes off.  “We’re doing better than ever.”

            “Yeah, I know.”  Sam sits down next to Sam Two and does the same, their movements mirroring perfectly.  “Shower first.”

            “Definitely.”

            Out of reflex, Sam turns the shower up to scalding and then just a hair back, anticipating Dean getting in with him, expecting him; but it’s not, it’s himself, so he can turn it all the way up without worry.  He definitely isn’t stealing glances at himself as he adjusts the water but then remembers it’s literally himself and it’s fine, because it’s not like he’s going to run away.

  Sam gets in and it’s just big enough to hold two of him, thank God. 

            Warm, huge hands slide up over his hips and he wasn’t even thinking about it, but it happens anyway.  He automatically goes to moan Dean’s name but it’s not Dean, it’s him, and it’s… good.

            Sam Two kisses his shoulder and rubs his abs, slow, gentle circles that Dean always seems to find the right intensity to.  “I need to take better care of myself,” he murmurs, and Sam just nods his head, reveling in the foreign-but-familiar touch of his own fingers.

            “Damn right I do.”  Sam lets his head fall back, pressing back against the tall, hard body behind him.  He feels his own cock against his ass, hardening with every passing second and okay, that’s really fucking hot.  He feels huge, promising something that goes beyond fulfillment and a good fuck.

            “I should let Dean top more,” Sam Two says, his fingers slowly curling around Sam’s cock as he breathes in his scent.  “But he’s such a good fucking bottom…”

            “He’s more than that.”  Sam stops himself, because the opposite end of his own thoughts isn’t where he wants this to go right now.  “And it’s what makes _him_ feel good.”

            “I know.”  Sam Two soothes him with a kiss to the nape of his neck, finding the exact spot that feels the best.  “This is why you shouldn’t talk to yourself.”

            Sam laughs, and turns around.  “Good thing Dean doesn’t get to hear half the crap I think about.”

            “Fair.”  Sam Two kisses him, and it’s just as strangely thrilling as before, deep, hard, exactly what Sam would expect out of this.

            Sam hears the door open, and Dean calling “Sammy!”

            “Just a second!”  Sam Two calls out and shuts the water off, having accomplished nothing more than getting each other soaking wet.  Sam hadn’t bothered to bring clothes, so a towel will have to do.

            It doesn’t take long, and when Sam walks out with himself behind him, gleaming wet and beautiful, Dean’s face light up like New Year’s Eve in Times Square.

            “Been playing with yourself?”  Dean eyes Sam like he just won the fucking lottery, then looks at Sam Two.  “Actually, I hope you were.  Sam, baby boy, this…”

            “Is fucked up, Dean, but there’s not much I can do about it right now.”  Sam sits down and takes the wrap Dean offers to him, surprised that he got one for Sam Two as well.  “There’s not a damn thing in the journal, the lore I have on hand, nothing.”

            Dean kicks back and drinks in the view of two shirtless Sams, slurping on a soda and enjoying his burger way too much.  “This, Sam, is the opposite of a problem.”

            “What, you wanna have a threesome with… me?”  It’s fucking weird sounding when it comes out of Sam Two’s mouth, because Sam had thought it half a second behind himself.  “I don’t think that even counts as one.”

            Dean sits up and leans forward to kiss Sam’s shoulder.  “Damn right I do, but not until I can take my sweet time – tonight, I wanna watch.  Sam, _please,_ do this for me, okay?”  Sam feels it, himself watching as Dean puts his hand on the back of his neck and kisses him as tenderly as ever, knowing full well it’ll get him what he wants.  Sam sinks into that kiss, opening his mouth up to Dean’s tongue and moaning softly when Dean – and Sam Two – squeezes his cock through the towel still around his waist.

            It’s certainly not like he wasn’t planning this, because he was.  Sam wants to know why Dean comes so hard, gets so completely wrung out during sex with him.  That and objectively, Sam thinks he’s actually hot, after seeing and touching himself up to this point.

            Dean’s the one to set things in motion.

            “I’m not here, Sammy, just you.”  Dean lets Sam’s lip slide slowly from between his teeth and turns Sam towards himself, slipping off the bed to the chair in the corner.  Sam waits for him to get settled before he lays himself out on the bed, letting Sam Two take the towel from around his hips.

            Feeling the length and heaviness of his own cock against himself is electrifying but he doesn’t go for it yet, no.  He wants to revel in his own solid weight pressed to his body, feel his own fingers in his hair.  The kiss heats up fast, lips tingling against his own and it feels almost wrong, his brain screaming _not Dean not Dean not Dean_ but it’s fine, Dean is over there, right where he wants to be.

            “Shhh,” Sam Two says, looking down into Sam’s eyes and seeing the exact same color.  “Sam, it’s okay.”

            “I know.” 

            Sam Two grinds himself against Sam, sliding their cocks together.  “Feels…”

            “Incredible,” Sam decides. “I really do get this wet.”

            Sam Two scoops up some of his precome and sucks it off his fingers, then kisses it to Sam.  “Yeah, I do.”  He rocks forward again, letting the slow burn of desire grow more.  “Ready to find out how my own cock tastes?”

            Sam growls, and throws Sam Two onto the bed next to him.  He feels Dean’s gaze on him and manhandles himself so that Dean’s got a perfect view, full profile of both of them.  Sam Two looks down, and Sam breaths with himself, relaxing his throat just like he does before he goes down on Dean.

            Of course, it’s _nothing_ like swallowing his brother’s cock.

            Dean’s thick, Sam will give him that, but he’s a manageable thick, the sort of thick that leaves a good tingle but doesn’t rearrange your trachea.  Taking himself though?  It’s no fucking wonder Dean’s eyes leak tears when he deep throats him.  Sam makes it past the head before he has to stop and readjust, fighting the fear of having his breath cut off and the dual sensation of wetness between his legs, like there’s some sort of circular sensation feeding between him and Sam Two.

            Sam Two soothes his cheek, a motion he’s done a million times to Dean in this exact same situation.

            “Sammy?”

            Sam’s eyes flick to Dean, whose pants are now around his ankles along with his underwear, cock jutting hard up against his belly.  “Tilt your head down, that’ll make it easier.”

            Dean would know, because of course he does.  Sam gets even more turned on, wanting Dean and wanting himself because now he can swallow his own cock halfway down – and the taste is nothing like Dean, either.  Sure he’s tasted his own spunk plenty of times but the whole thing, cock, precome, inhaling the scent of his own bod – it has his head swimming.

            Sam Two presses on the back of his head and helps Sam ease himself down further, his nose nearly touching his neatly trimmed pubes.  His throat is full, eyes watering.  Somewhere he can hear Dean and himself moaning, his entire body a warm pool of heat and desire and something much, much deeper, like he’s coming to know himself more now than he ever has.

            “Hey, ease up,” Sam Two pulls Sam off, making him look up.  “Don’t have to prove anything to yourself.”

            “And… Dean does this willingly?”

            Sam Two nods, and kisses Sam on the forehad.  “I’m not gonna hate myself if I do this, will I?”

            “No.”

            Sam Two holds Sam’s head still and smacks his cock against his cheek a couple times, spit and precome leaving a wet patch in his stubble.  Sam likes it, does again, and hears Dean groan.  He spares a glance towards him and yeah, he’s lost in it, eyes glued to Sam’s face and Sam Two’s cock, like there isn’t anything that could possibly go wrong in the world right now.

            “Don’t move,” Sam tells himself, and grabs Sam Two’s cock.  This time he doesn’t try to force it, swirling his tongue around the head and nibbling on his foreskin a little harder than Dean does, just to see what it’s like.

            Sam can’t believe the noise he makes, but he suddenly wants to hear more of it.  Every nerve ending in his lower body is firing off in rapid fashion, urging him towards _more –_ Sam Two grabs his left hand and puts it on his chest, his own strong fingers curling against his chest hair.  There’s nothing to slow him down, and neither is it conscious when Sam pulls off of his own cock and is flipped around, surprised by his own strength as he’s shoved up the mattress towards the pillows and Sam Two buries his tongue in his ass.

            Oh, _fuck,_ that feels really fucking good.

            Sam Two licks up from his balls to his hole, back and forth, over and over, long, slow swipes of his tongue that make his eyes roll back in his head.  He’s had a lifetime of practice on Dean and turning it on himself, holy hell, there’s no way to judge just how good it _would_ have felt; now he knows.  He gets why Dean is always begging and writhing and pleading with him when Sam’s got him in this position, and why he can’t get enough.  His own tongue is silky-rough, hot-wet.  His two day stubble scrapes and rubs against his ass and inner thighs, held apart by the same hands that do this to Dean.

            “Sam…”  Sam doesn’t try to hide that he just moaned his own name, picking his hips up to get his hand between his legs and stroke.  His cock feels huge and heavy, dripping with precome and making a mess of the only bed that they’ve got for the night.  It’s just going to have to be okay, because Sam can’t stop and isn’t going to let himself be talked out of it.

            It’s just too fucking good.

            Dean has moved closer to the bed, not within touching distance, like he’s witnessing some miracle he can’t quite believe.  Sam looks up, sees him stroking his rock hard cock and looking down at them with complete devotion.  Sam wants to do more for him but loses sight of his brother when he feels his own fingers rub over his hole, smearing spit around his half-stretched entrance.

            “Lube,” Sam says, managing to pick himself up from under his own body.

            “Got it.”  Sam Two hops off the bed, finding exactly where it is in his bag and bringing it back to the bed.  Sam doesn’t have to look at himself to know what he looks like, can feel that expression mirrored on his own face.  On the rare occasion that he bottoms, this is how he prefers it anyway, held down, ass up.  Dean likes it on his back, Sam likes it on his front.

            It’s no different with himself.

            His own fingers are bigger than Dean’s and when he feels them breach himself, he gasps, two sliding in without _that_ much resistance.  He can’t quite bring himself to be gentle, curling in and finding his prostate.

            “Right… right there.”  Sam sounds fucked out to himself, barely able to form words.  He pushes back on his own fingers, the novelty of getting prepped by his own self making him look back, up at his own face.  “C’mon, I can handle more.”

            “I know.”  Sam Two leans down and kisses him, slowly fucking his fingers back and forth out of Sam’s ass.  Sam bites at his own mouth, moaning, gasping, trying to get _more_ out of himself – but he knows he’s got to be patient, and imploring his own mind to change is a whole hell of a lot harder than he thought it would be.  Before long, a third finger slides in and Sam Two crooks them gently, finding about ten million sensitive little spots that make him see stars.  Alright, he’s a masochist to himself anyway, but it answers why he never makes Dean stop biting him during sex.

            It feels fucking fantastic, and Sam’s honestly afraid to learn more about himself.

            Sam doesn’t even have to say he’s ready, thinking it as Sam Two pulls his fingers out and slicks up his own cock, feeling the sensation just as deeply as if he were about to fuck Dean.  Sam tips his head forward and gets up on his knees, raising his body up for easier access.  He hears Dean say “such a pretty fuckin’ hole, Sammy” and the sound of Dean’s hand on himself, oddly comforting in this extremely weird albeit hot situation.

            That first push of his own cock into his ass is nothing like he’s ever felt before.

            He has to take his time, let himself adjust in increments to the overwhelming stretch, far, far more than what he could give to himself with just his fingers.  It’s different from Dean’s cock too, longer, curved differently, even though Sam’s touched himself countless times this still feels different, feels like the world is coming apart in places and then putting itself back together.  Halfway in and he’s running out of breath, gasping, looking up, eyes open as he feels his body force itself open. 

            “Almost there,” Sam Two whispers, his hands steady on Sam’s hips.  “How long have I thought about this?”

            “Really… really long time.”  Sam dips his head and relaxes the last couple inches, his thighs quivering with the effort of staying upright.  He feels like he’s on fire and there’s nothing to be done about it, buried to the hilt in himself.  He looks to Dean and Dean just nods, _yeah, I know Sam, why do you think I want you so goddamn bad all the time?_

“Do your worst,” Sam says, wanting Dean to hear it.

            It’s not easy, at first, feeling his own big cock dragging in and out of his body – as hot as it is, it still doesn’t feel entirely right.  He grits his teeth when Sam Two pushes in too quickly, and then just as fast correcting back to a slower pace.  Dean always needs that first couple minute of warm-up, not quite fucking so much as prepping with his dick.  Sam needs more than that, and gives it to himself, the knot in the pit of his stomach growing tighter the longer he makes himself wait.  It’s not bad, just necessary.

            Sam Two adds more lube and grabs tightly onto Sam’s hips, digging into the skin.  “Ready.”

            There’s no holding back now.

            It’s funny, in a way, because all of the moves that work on Dean – snaking his hips, grinding in on him, changing his pace to draw it out more – they feel strange to him, and soon he’s just pounding away at himself, his hair swaying wildly, sweat dripping down his back and off his body.  This is what _Sam_ needs, direct, hard, cathartic.

            He starts to fall in love with the hard smack of his hips against his own ass, the swing of his own balls and the burning, glorious feeling of filling himself up, over and over again.  He gets louder with every passing second, moaning, crying, accepting that this isn’t bad, that it’s good, it’s glorious, even, _letting_ himself enjoy the feeling of getting fucked by himself within an inch of his life.

            Hearing Dean bite back a shout as he comes all over himself is all it takes to set him off; in sync, always, and it doesn’t take but a second before Sam is roaring through his own orgasm, feeling himself come in his ass at the exact same moment, spilling hands free all over the comforter.  It’s amplified by ten, like what he’s just done has ripped some gash in the natural order of things.  He doesn’t fucking care, his body spasming and hurting and then flooding with endorphins, all at once.

            Sam doesn’t even try to move out from under himself when he collapses to the bed.

            Dean’s there in a second, and when Sam looks up he sees that he’s covered in come, dripping from his nose and chin, his chest – everywhere.  “Hey, Sammy, baby, that… god, that was fucking _hot._ ”  He kisses Sam, sweet and open mouthed, while he makes himself go and get a washcloth and a towel.  Dean cradles his face in his hands and turns him over onto his back, laying alongside him to sooth and still him.

            He knows how to gently clean himself up and maybe if it were something he was used to, he’d lick himself clean – but not now, not after that.  It feels weird to cuddle himself but fuck all if it doesn’t feel nice, Dean on his left and his double on the right.  Dean doesn’t stop kissing him until his breathing has slowed and he’s cleaned up a little more, and even then he doesn’t go far.

            “I feel…”  Sam can’t even pick a word, his body humming with something that goes beyond pleasure.  Dean shushes him, and gets off the bed to get him a bottle of water.

            “I know, Sam.  And yeah, it’s like that every time.”

            “Even when we want to bite each other’s head off?”  Sam takes the water and drinks gratefully, Sam Two laying with his head on his shoulder. 

            “That’s the best time.”  Dean looks down at him like he can’t believe his luck and yes, before they figure out what to do about this situation there will be an argument or six because they’re brothers and it’s just the way things are but for now, Sam feels… peaceful.

            Sam yawns, and Dean takes the water bottle from him.  “Oh no you don’t – you’re gonna brush your teeth first, dick breath.”

            In fairness, Dean _totally_ deserves the pinch to his side as Sam gets up.

            The one from Sam Two is just to be mean.

___

            The day after next, Smith County is finally under the wheels of the Impala and Sam couldn’t be more glad to be home, if not in one piece at least knowing he isn’t going to be aching for the next two weeks.  Hunting was a whole hell of a lot easier when he was 26 – at 36, it’s not so great anymore.

            His double, clone, whatever – it’s exactly the same.  He spent a lot of time on the ride home thinking, to himself, talking to Dean, and then back to himself, his temporarily doubled brain power presenting him with a lot of possible solutions to their problem.  As much as he wants to just lay down and sleep for four days, he’s itching to get to his books and put himself right.

            Even if Dean does keep stealing looks at him, both in the front and backseat with that same mix of lust and fascination that’s been in his eyes since he was magically duplicated.  Sam wants to act on it, yes, but there being two of him well, his energy is being a little more drained.  Which means that this is probably some temporarily displaced part of his soul, and they haven’t yet found out a way to put him back in place.  More likely (even though Sam isn’t that conversant in the specific magic) the warlock used it on himself to be in more than one place at a time.  Sam doesn’t feel some sort of weird pull when Sam Two moves away, and neither is there a psychic bond, of sorts.  The only reason he can talk without opening his mouth is because it’s still his own consciousness.

            Telepathic communication would _have_ to feel different.

            Dean pulls up to the entrance of the bunker, grins at Sam for about the millionth time in two days, and then looks at him in the backseat.  “You got anywhere to be?”  He doesn’t even try to hide his interest now, groping himself and clearly hoping like hell Sam is on the same page.  They hadn’t bothered with anything the night before, first and foremostly because Sam had completely worn himself out – and his ass still aches just a little.

            And Dean _had_ said he wanted them.  Him.  Whatever.

            “Dude, we just drove sixteen hours – I’m not going anywhere.”  Sam holds still as Dean puts his hand on his thigh and moves it up, closing in on his crotch.  “Dean, _really.”_

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”  Dean is half listening to him and alright, after the initial novelty of touching himself had worn off, Sam’s not had much of a desire to do it again, and God, he _wants_ Dean.  Not in a quick blow and go fashion, now that they’ve got time and their own place again.  Yeah, Dean’s going to get the threesome he wants, and Sam’s willing to put off fixing this until afterwards.  There is one thing that will never lose its magic, and that’s being with Dean.

            Sam makes himself stay in the backseat as he leans over to kiss Dean, unbuckling his seatbelt and gathering Dean to him.  The soft little moan Dean makes as Sam licks into his mouth is all the impetus he needs, feeling Dean’s fingers curl into the front of his shirt and try to angle his head so that Sam can taste more of him.

            “C’mon, baby.”  Sam doesn’t have much of  game plan for when they get inside, beyond “get Dean naked and don’t let him go.”

            Dean nods and without hesitation, gets out of the car and follows Sam down the steps to the bunker’s entrance, Sam Two following but a step behind, bags forgotten in the car.  The heavy door swings open and Sam pulls Dean through it, right into his arms on the landing as Sam Two locks up and then crowds up to Dean’s back, kissing his neck as Sam goes for another dirty-wet kiss.

            The pull of unbridled, unfiltered _want_ is impossible to miss, making Sam’s skin feel a size too tight and hot.  He doesn’t have to think for his double, just _feel._

            Dean breaks their kiss and reaches behind him, getting a mouthful of tongue from Sam Two.  “Fuckin’ love this,” he growls, his left hand keeping Sam Two in place while his right gropes Sam’s cock through his jeans.  “You have any idea how long I’ve thought about this, Sammy?”

            “Long time?”  Sam pulls down the collar of Dean’s shirt and sucks a bruise right into the hollow of his throat, licking up his windpipe to his right ear.  He bites down on it, hard, and makes Dean moan toe-curlingly sexy into Sam Two’s mouth.

            “ _Really_ long time.”

            The fact that Dean hasn’t bitched _much_ about there being two of Sam’s big mouth to deal with is probably a good indicator that this is what he wanted all along. 

            Sam really, _really_ needs to get Dean to their bedroom, where there’s lube and far more conducive space to do this rather than a cold, drafty stairwell.  With an effort, Sam tears them apart and leads Dean by the hand, shedding what clothing he can on the way.

            They’re down to jeans and socks by the time Dean’s back hits the mattress, continual kisses, nips, gropes, and every which way Sam can think of to touch Dean keeping him right on that perfect edge.  Sam Two settles behind Dean and kisses him upside down while Sam pulls Dean’s jeans off, taking his underwear with him in one swift motion.

            “So fuckin’ hot, Dean.”  Sam drops a line of kisses down Dean’s body, watching Sam Two’s hands cover his chest and tweak Dean’s nipples.  Dean’s back arches and he reaches for another kiss that is given readily.

            “You gonna tease or actually do something, Sammy?”

            Sam licks over the jut of Dean’s left hipbone and bites him there, watching his stomach tighten and relax in kind.  “Whatever you want, Dean.”  Sam means that – right now, Dean could ask to tie him up and fuck in a unicorn mask and Sam would do it.

            He watches Dean think for a moment, Sam Two hovering over him and licking his lips, his view completely different to Sam’s. Sam looks himself in the eye, and yeah, he knows what to do.  He can’t read Dean’s mind, but this isn’t something they’ve ever mastered before with just one of him.

            With two though?

            Sam smirks and spreads his fingers over Dean’s thighs.  “Hold on tight, _brother_.”

            Before Dean has a chance to ask why, Sam is flipping him ass over head and pushing his legs apart, Sam Two pulling him back towards the edge of the bed and unbuttoning his jeans.  Sam watches as they drop to the floor and he’s looking at his own hard, dripping cock.

            “Maybe you should, Sam.” 

            Sam feels it when Dean’s lips wrap around the head and he swallows Sam Two upside down, grabbing his hips and pulling forward, urging him to go deep.  It’s weird, feeling Dean’s mouth, the hot, wet softness without it actually being _on_ him.  He scrambles to force his own jeans off, getting his cock out and stroking, the dual sensation of Dean and his own hand making his head swim.

            They’re going to have to fix this situation, or Sam may literally die of sensory overload.  His nerves are crackling with pleasure, fanned by watching himself get sucked off and seeing his own reactions, realizing that _this_ is how he looks when Dean’s going down on him.

            How he’s _always_ looked.

            Maybe they need to figure out at some point just what it is he got hit with in California, just for the sake of kinky sex.  Not that they don’t manage it just fine with just one Sam, but the possibilities…

            Sam Two grits his teeth, and Sam feels him get awfully fucking close.

            “He’s doing that thing… that thing with his tongue that I like.”

            Or, where Dean holds his shaft and puts his tongue under his foreskin and licks very, very slowly around the crown.  That’s been one of Dean’s failsafe moves for, well, ever, and it _still_ makes Sam’s knees tremble.

            “Thinks it means he wants me to get to work.”

            Dean pops off of Sam Two and looks up at Sam.  “Sammy, stop talking to yourself.”

            Sam is sure that statement would have a lot more force behind it if Dean’s voice wasn’t fucked raw from deep throating him – but his point is well taken anyway.

            “Keep sucking.”

            Dean flips him off as he takes Sam Two down to the hilt again.

            Sam makes himself a little more comfortable where he’s kneeling on the bed and holds Dean’s body upright, his feet hooked over his shoulders.  Dean’s hole is a dusky pink among the tan, inviting, sweet, _hot._ Sam licks over it slowly, just the same as Dean did to the head of his cock a minute ago, listens to Dean moan around his shaft, and then does it again, more deliberately.

            God, he doesn’t even want to share this with himself, much less anyone.

            Sam Two catches his eye, _really, Sam, isn’t that pointless?_

_No, it isn’t – and he’s doing really fucking well today._

_Like there’s some of standard I hold him to?_

Sam Two looks down at Dean and touches his throat, skittering his fingers along his windpipe.

            _Never – he’s always more than good enough._

Sam licks into Dean with a little more focus, and delights in the way it makes Dean shiver.  He gives as good as he’s getting, rimming him until the spit is running down his chin and down Dean’s back – he’s got to open him up as much as possible if he’s going to try what he’s thinking about.  Sam is _almost_ sure he’ll be okay with it, but making sure he’s ready isn’t exactly a hardship.

 He can feel Dean getting a little less careful about how he’s blowing him, spending a lot of time zeroing in on the head and stroking, making Sam’s cock leak precome right down his throat.  His cock pulses between his legs and he touches gently, hissing when he realizes how close to the edge he is.

            _Wanna help?_

Sam Two looks up, his thumbs stroking over Dean’s throat so that he can take all of him more easily.

            _Yes._

Sam lets Dean go and lays himself out flat on his body, wrapping Dean up in his arms and tongue fucking his mouth.  Dean’s arms are shaking from the double working over he’s been getting, Sam Two going for the lube while things slow down for just a second.

            “You good?”  Sam looks into Dean’s dark, lust blown eyes, too beautiful in their way. 

            Dean smiles, worn through but just as happy as he can be.  “Yeah.”  He gasps when Sam Two pushes his legs apart and slicks his hole up, the lube cold from disuse.  “Think I know what you’re gonna ask.”

            “And?”

            Dean spreads his legs, and Sam’s fingers tingle as two slide right into his brother.  “Fuckin’ wreck me, baby boy.”

            Thank _God._

It doesn’t take long between the two of them to get Dean nearly gaping, taking turns fucking their fingers in and out of him, kissing Dean, teasing his chest, his cock (Sam doesn’t dare try and suck him off, not when every brush of fingertips over his prostate makes Dean’s entire body spasm) and all the little hot spots that Sam has come to know over a lifetime.  Dean doesn’t shy away from any of it, taking everything that Sam gives him and then demanding _more, yeah, Sammy, just like that, feels so fuckin’ good baby boy, give me another finger-_

            Sam wants to draw this out, make Dean beg and plead for more but he can feel his self-control starting to erode, along with Sam Two starting to feel a little less real, which means either the magic is wearing off or _something_ is about to go wrong.

            Better to fulfill this particular fantasy while he can.

            Dean’s up to six fingers inside him when he finally grabs Sam Two’s wrist, nodding his head and saying “’m ready.”  Sam kisses him, way too tenderly for what they’re – he – is about to do to him.

            Sam has never double penetrated someone, not even with Dean. Doing it with himself is odd, and as he lays down on his back and lets Sam Two guide him in, he can’t help but think that this is the _only_ way he could ever do it.  Dean buries his face in Sam’s neck as he sinks in, angling his hips up and forward until he’s halfway there.

            Dean’s breathing speeds up when he feels the thick head of Sam Two’s cock push against him, and Sam doesn’t move either.  “This is gonna fuckin’ hurt, isn’t it?”

            Sam Two starts in, his cock huge and hot against Sam’s.  “Hey, nothing you’re not used to baby.”  Sam rubs the back of his neck and angles his head for a kiss, toes curling when he feels Sam Two fit _just_ enough inside Dean more or less on top of him.  He looms huge over Dean’s back, and the look that he shares with Sam says _slow and easy._

“Yeah, with _one_ of you.”  Dean tries to clench around him and all three of them gasp, lube and sweat sticking them together in a messy tangle of arms and legs, and Sam feels like the walls of their bedroom are starting to close in on them.  Dean picks his head up, looks back at Sam Two, kisses him, then back to Sam.

            “Either _you_ move, or I move.”  Dean’s nearly gone already, the combined efforts stretching him right to his breaking point – he’s never more beautiful than right before he breaks down for _Sam,_ and no one else.  Sam thrusts his hips, shallow, slow, _move, Sam, you’ve got to help yourself_ and once his brain is caught up with his body, it’s not long before he finds that perfect rhythm.  Sam goes in, Sam Two slides out, a constant, thick friction that makes Sam feel an ecstasy so completely that it can’t be real.  Dean’s teeth are sunk into Sam’s shoulder, biting down on his brother’s flesh to keep himself from de-atomizing.

            Sam gets his hand between their bodies and grabs Dean’s prec0me-slick cock, thumbing at his slit and making Dean shudder anew.

            “Sammy, I… _harder, so fuckin’ close, Sam, just a little more._ ”  Sam senses it, the way Dean’s starting to clench and tighten involuntarily around them.  He changes his grip and holds Dean’s forehead to his, Sam Two doing most of the work on his own and it tears these sharp, hot exhalations from him, Sam watching Dean and himself-

            The hot, sudden burst of come against Sam’s stomach and fingers rushes him along, Dean’s cock pulsing and pulsing, spilling all over Sam and sending him over the edge right along with Sam Two.  His breath comes in hard, shallow gasps that aren’t nearly enough, feeling it right down into his soul and then there’s _light,_ intense and blinding as Sam is suddenly put back together, his double or whatever he was disappearing and it’s just them again, Sam and Dean, clutching each other and waiting for sweet, completely collapse.

            “That… what…”  Dean can hardly form words, and Sam can’t provide an answer, can do nothing but sink into the deep warmth lodged in his chest.  He wants to cuddle Dean, lick him clean and never let him go, but he can’t fucking move – and Dean doesn’t seem to want to go anywhere.

            “Spell’s been broken.”  Sam feels himself slide out of Dean’s body along with a whole lot of come and lube.  Dean tries to get away from it as he feels it run down the back of his leg and onto the mattress but it’s no use – Sam’s got him. 

            “So’s my ass.”  Dean manages to lift a hand and touch himself back there, his face reflecting just a little too much worry that _something_ might be out of place.

            Watching that makes Sam’s body very briefly, forcefully try to get ready again.

            But he’s done, hanging on the edge of blissful ruination.  “You okay?”

            “All in one piece.”  Dean finally relaxes and smiles, content to apparently stay on top of Sam.  “Kinda sad to see he’s gone, though – what do you think it was?”

            “Part of my soul?”  Sam shifts Dean just a little so he can look at his face more comfortably and kiss the peaceful flush of a good, hard fuck on his cheeks.  “That’s what it feels like, I guess.  I’ll research it… later.”

            “Like when you can walk again?”  Dean smiles and it’s that same, bright light all over again.  “Think that might be a while.”

            “Dean, you _really_ don’t have room to talk.”

            “Damn right I do – I just took two of you at once and let me tell you, it fucking hurts.”  Dean kisses him anyway, because he doesn’t really mean it.  “But I’m not complaining.”

            “Right now,” Sam finishes for him.  “But I’ll take the blame anyway.”  He’s feeling sleepy, and as much as they need to get up and clean up before they wind up stuck together, he just can’t be bothered to try and move right now.

            “Mmm.”  Dean yawns and manages to get onto his side, pulling Sam with him to spoon him from behind.  “Kinda like just one Sam.  Always have.”

            Sam doesn’t reply – there’s nothing to say, not now. 

            All he has to do is hold Dean to him, kiss the back of his head, and enjoy, for once, something that went spectacularly, beautifully _right._

           

           

           

           

           

           

           

           

**Author's Note:**

> This will be my last work for October but not to worry, I already have another story planned and ready for November B)


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